Epitaph
by SLOVA
Summary: Why had it gone this far? Oh, dear Sparda . . . your sons are just making matters worse by seeing each other. If I am really such the prime candidate for a guardian you sent to watch over your sons twenty years ago, why had I allowed for everything to burn as it did? Everything has gone to Hell. He has gone to Hell. -DMC3, in character, stays true to the plot/cutscenes-
1. Prologue - Mission 01

**This story is going directly in proportion to Devil May Cry 3's timeline, missions from start to finish with situations taken directly from the cutscenes of both Dante's and Vergil's editions. Enjoy.**

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_**|Prologue  
**__He looked so much like his father now. They both did, obviously, but this one maintained the up-do. All he needed now was a monocle and a sense of humor. It seems like it's been a day since they were only crawling. But, somehow, eighteen years had already passed. Time had flashed by . . . . They had his same features: bleak white hair, the facial structure, the same smirk that he had. They're as handsome as he was as well. Oh, I want to approach them . . . to finally say hello . . . to wish a pleasant birthday. But . . . I can't._

I sighed. As I sat atop the grand bell in the tower, I watched the quieter half read his book as he slowly tapped down the aisle of cracked wooden pews. At least fifty books were scattered about; even Bibles were tossed to the floor as if just an outdated text. This was not his doing, however. He was neat; the books were already tossed when he had arrived. I didn't understand quite what he was searching for in a holy house's library. The variety was strictly limited. This stone structure was completely deserted. Well, except for he and myself. But, he did not know I was here . . . so, I did not count. I wondered if he had sensed me here. _Doubtful_. He would have said something by now, wouldn't have he?

I continued to watch him as I stayed in the shadows of the tower, careful not to let the bell sway. If it should . . . forget him hearing me; people on _Avanera_ would form a mob against me for waking them. But, he was interesting to observe. He stacked each book neatly into a pile after he was finished with it. Completely different from the other one. Heaven knew how many pizza box carcasses he had thrown around his apartment. But, that was expected from the loud, arrogant, smart-mouthed one. His hair was always draped over his eyes. Maybe he didn't want to put in the two-second effort of slicking it up. Lazy and cocky versus proper and cautious. How different these two had grown up to be. Their choice in wardrobe reflected their personalities well, too. One_ crimson red_ - like fire - and the other a_ pallid blue _- like water. The differences spanned out far while the similarities took a sudden stop. But, I was careful to realize that both fire and water could be aggressive. They were still devils, even if only half.

Again, I sighed. I wanted desperately to speak to at least one, if not both. It was so tempting, so maddening, to be this close. Perhaps . . . if I-

No. I cannot.

Sparda knew his sons would be appalled, if not infuriated. No matter how negotiable Sparda himself was, he too would be insulted to find out a _girl_was looking out for him-

What were these particles around suddenly . . . had he . . .duste-

"_E-Echoo_!" Silver particles. What else in such an old cathedral.

From below, he'd spoken: "How much longer do you intend to keep me under your surveillance?" It was the first time I'd heard him speak in a while. His voice was distant and deep, but somewhat nasal as well.

I waved to him casually, smiled, and jumped down to the ground floor from where I had been perched. Landing among the pews, I bowed as an apology, then headed for the wide, wooden double-doors. But before I even reached for the handles, a blue field of cross-esque swords blocked my path. I twirled around on my heel, smiling meekly, and waited with my fingers linked behind my back. So, he was aware of me. Though for how long was unclear.

He approached me after tucking a decrepit burgundy book beneath his arm. "A child," he pointed out as if either of us could deny it. "Who are you?" I probably should have been a bit intimidated, but . . . I was finally speaking to him. It'd take everything in my core to restrain myself from jumping on him for an unwelcome hug. What would he think of me keeping watch on him unknowingly? Would he think I was some sort of spy? Oh, _hardly_. What would I spy on him for? All he ever did was read.

"Kethar vi nayevat," I replied, smiling wryly.

He didn't like it. He warned, "Don't play games with me." Evidentally, he did not speak out tongue.

"Well, then. My name is Carmilla. Mila is acceptable as well," I replied. "Would you care to tell me yours?"

"You already know my name," he accused. "Why have you been following me, girl?"

I bit my lip, turning to slowly stroll in between the pews. I knew he followed me with his gaze. Hell, he followed me with his swords. "That's the sort of question that's difficult to answer . . . because it depends entirely on what you want. Should I tell you the answer, Vergil," I spun around to face him again, just a few yards away. "It'd be awfully hard for you to get rid of me. You won't want to let me go." He watched, expectant. I wasn't going anywhere . . . . "Ah . . . well, quite basically, _very_ basically really, your father assigned to me the task of keeping an eye out for you." I paused only briefly. "And your brother."

"Lost girl," he muttered.

"I'm not lost; I've told you the truth."

His eyes, like dry ice, narrowed. "Why you?"

"I'm one of few people that Sparda actually trusted, despite my reputation."

"And what-"

"I'll tell you when you're older." I replied, knowingly apologetic. "But, I assure you, it isn't a type of reputation that follows modern youth standards."

"Which brings us to your age," he pressed. "What are you . . . seventeen? Less?"

"I am fifteen," I answered proudly.

"I was not inquiring about your body. Physically, I am older than you are, yet you say my father asked you while we were still in the womb?"

That didn't count as clever. I refused to give him a mark for wit. "Well . . . _my_ father did not like me very much. It's really his fault that I'm like that. Believe me, if I could choose to age, I would. Being fifteen, _looking _so young has given me its fair share of problems."

"Would you care to tell me who your father is?" he asked.

"I would not."

He looked dissatisfied. He wasn't tolerating me at all, at this point. "Why you?"

"My father doesn't really . . . " I made a face. " . . . like me, as I've said. Your father was actually the one who saved me that day. I owed him a great depth of gratitude. My old man wanted to harm me. Well, kill me, really." I huffed a laugh. "Something along those lines. Your father offered me his help in the nick of time. Though, before I was removed from the situation, daddy dearest decided to leave me looking immature. I'll be a couple centuries old sometime in December."

"Sometime?"

"Time wasn't marked as accurately as it is now. Sparda told me the thirty-first of December was my anniversary of birth, but however kind that was of him, it makes no difference to me." I shrugged, then grinned. "Fifteen sounds good though. I appreciate the seventeen comment, though, thank you-!"

"What are you?" The questions just rolled off of his tongue. If I didn't know what he meant by that, I would have called him rude.

"Some sort kind of mutt. My father was a devil, like your old man. My mother was human, I think. I never met her past birth. But, she might've been an angel, if they exist. All I know is that when I go into a berserk fit, my wings aren't leathery and black like yours. They're grey, wide . . . feathers. I've never met an angel before." Though, I knew there were different sorts of demons, I preferred to believe mother was a saint.

"And your father?"

"He killed my mother and he nearly killed me."

"Answer me."

"Feisty, aren't you?" I laughed. "If there is any love in me left for him, it is purely instinctive. I have no desire to see nor speak to him."

"I am to believe you're not lying to me?" he asked. The skepticism was so warm.

"Yes, sir. I have a pendant - a remnant you had left behind from your mother. He gave me a small portion of his power, too. Nothing close to what you and your brother naturally inherited, though."

"Show me."

"Not in a house of worship." I suggested awkwardly. "That's sacrilege."

"Where is this pendant?" he asked, suddenly scanning down my body, particularly at my neck.

"Safe for me to keep," I murmured slowly, appearing to feign defense. "I will give it to you in time, on another celebration." Dissatisfied, he picked up another three books and began his descent into the catacombs of the church. I grinned to myself, grabbing a book he had left behind, and followed behind eagerly, cautious of keeping an appropriate distance from him.

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**_ᴛᴡᴏ ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ_**

_**|Mission**_** 01  
**It looked quite handsome on him. I had wary stitch work, but . . . I think it was lovely. I hadn't bothered to tell him it was from me. I just shuffled it into his other wardrobe. An elegantly stitched pale blue trench coat with nicely detailed white vines near the center of either side of the buttons. He didn't seem displeased, and it took him a while to try it on . . . a few days, actually. I left it in there days ago. I didn't see him check himself in the mirror, or pull at it curtly, no. He was subtle in his likings. Keyboard being _likings_. He hadn't removed it. I sat on the stone bench with a small grin hiding mischievously behind one of his open books in my lap. It was ridiculous of me to be happy about this. When he had emerged with it on, I was keen to checkout my own stitchwork. I few snags, I noticed. Nothing I couldn't fix while he slept. I said nothing of it, he said nothing of it. I took the thanks as him not taking it off. That was good enough for me, and that was as good as it was going to get.

He caught me staring once, though, at his face as he passed by. He paused in stride and asked, "What now?"

"You just look like your dad," was all I replied before returning to the book in my hands. I didn't check back for his reaction, but I heard him shuffle around a moment later. Later on, he decided he needed more books to add to his collection of nothing interesting at all. To me, anyway. Not to boast, but I had read most of them. I didn't bother to tell him that, though. No matter if I didn't expect it of him, but it would grow tiresome if all he did was ask _me_ instead of reading. We arrived in a library that wasn't coated in that much dust as compared to the last three we had visited earlier in the month.

I sat at the top of a ladder while he was down below, enveloped in a book. I had given up asking him what he was reading long ago. It was useless to talk to him when he went on his excursions.

Something unfamiliar was approaching. Slow, cautious footsteps down the marble floor. My eyes darted in the appropriate direction, catching the silhouette of a dark man.

"So, you're looking for the book of legends - the tale of the demon warrior, _Sparda_."

Vergil shut his book lithely with his gloved hand, returning the book to its place on the shelf. "That's not what I'm looking for," he said lowly. "Leave me."

"Then what _are_you looking for?" pressed the new man, coming into view beneath the dim light near us. He had beautiful, mismatched eyes and an ugly, terribly burnt face. He had no hair and wore a bland, black suit. "A demon," he continued, drawing closer. "That impregnates a woman who then bears twin sons. That's the story, isn't it-?"

Vergil drew his Yamato impatiently and extended it blindly at arm's length near the stranger's neck. "Leave me," he repeated. "I won't tell you a third time."

The stranger observed Yamato like a porcelain doll, then trailed his fingers over the duller side. "People . . . inherently _fear_ evil," he continued, then pressed his thumb against the sharper edge beneath, trailing it forward, slicing open his skin. "However, occasionally, a person may become . . . _seduced_ by evil." He took slowly steps forward, his blood dripping sickly onto the floor.

Vergil slowly picked his head up and glazed his eyes over to him. Enticed, _for some reason beyond me, the boy was never good at making normal friends_, he sheathed his sword and asked in an intrigued tone, "What are you getting at?"

His reply made Vergil turn around as a sort of hostile invitation, walking deeper into the library. I jumped down to the ground from the nest of the ladder, observing the stranger from head to toe before following after Vergil.

"Share with me," the stranger growled. "The story of Sparda."

_**ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ**_

I never had brothers or sisters, but I felt I understood disclusion from affairs when the pair of them went off to talk amongst themselves for a while. It pissed me off. I could eavesdropped of course, that was nothing new to me, but in the undercroft of the library with that thick a door, going in unnoticed would have been impossible. They emerged soon and the stranger, whose name was Arkham, seemed quite satisfied by the look in his mismatched eyes. I didn't say a word, but I hoped that the both of them could feel my eyes boring into their backs as they exited. I pulled on my black coat and followed them outside, my hands in the pockets. Once, Arkham had glanced back at me, an apathetic look of his boney face. He stared shamelessly for five seconds before I had confronted him and asked, "Have I something smudged across my face?" He didn't reply, but rather turned back to face forward. _As he should have._

They arrived at the base of a low building that looked as if it had been worn for centuries. I approached Vergil at his side, casting a wary glance his way. He met my gaze, but didn't react in any way. How had this man persuaded him to do this?

"The activation method is as I described before," enticed Arkham, standing at the foot of stone steps beside the silent half-devil. "It should be a simple matter for you. I will go to his place." He then turned around, carrying his book with him still. "I believe I know where the item we seek is located. You should dispose of any obstacles _quickly_."

"Vergil," I piped up once the stranger was gone. "The hell are you doing?"

"Follow him." he ordered.

"_Hell_ no, I'm not following th-"

"Not him," he said, turning around as Malebolge, the _Abyss_ demons began to generate around us. He wanted me to leave him alone with these- "Go, Carmilla." As the demons drew closer, I had no choice but to move out, away from the tower. I moved away, secured myself to the rooftops. When I looked back down to where Vergil was, he had just finished completely massacring the herd that had come too close. He swept his fallen hair out of his eyes, _and here I thought the loud one was the vain twin_, and approached up the steps, unharmed. Before he headed inside and I left on my way, I heard him decide: "It begins."

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.**


	2. Mission 02

**The last chapter was edited and added to after Arkham's final words in the library. Woo.**

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_**|Mission 02**_  
"Damn it! You guys totally wrecked my shop! _And I haven't even named it yet! _You're gonna pay for that."

Dante was a brash young man. I used to check up on him quite often before I began to worry too much about Vergil and his new friend. Arkham had just left and given him a sort of parting gift - another hoard of Hell's demons. And another thing that Dante was - _he was very, very flashy._ When he through his sword, Rebellion, in the air, he began to twist his red leather coat around himself expertly before sliding his arms through the arm holes. How his brother and him were able to bear so much leather on their bare bodies was unbeknownst to me. The cute things about Dante, however, was he had a sort of allergy to silver as well when its particles get too near to his nose. After he had finished swooping around his coat and catching Rebellion so modestly, he let out a sneeze. Unfortunately, that seemed to have set off the final measure it took to bring down his disheveled shop completely. The stone began to crumble and fall out before the structure fell, leaving behind a chaotic mess.

"I hope you all have enough to cover all this!" he croaked. I braced myself atop the rooftoop of a skyscraper as he began to cut them down with what seemed like little effort. He was a good fighter, a _hellborn_ fighter, just like his brother. This was of no consequence to them to shave these beasts down. I felt a harsher entity approach. I shuddered and found that I needed no refuge being so far up. A laughing, _or was it screaming_, Vanguard in its ghastly shape, towering at twelve feet tall, scalded Dante and swung his scythe at his viciously, countering up to three times before Dante fired one of his handguns at the crevice of his chest. This was barely a feat for him, too. The Hellish Vanguard cried in agony before it leapt off the sides of mangled cars to escape.

The ground began to tremble not long after. This time, I _had _to seek refuge in fear of falling off twenty stories. I turned around, bracing myself on a bolted grate on the cement surface. It was no earthquake, but instead an ascending, damnable tower tearing the sky in two. I shuddered. This was the Temen-ni-gru . . . long ago it was used to open the realm to the demonic realm. _What the Hell_ did Vergil think he was doing? I could have sworn I saw his silhouette against the rays of the sun on the peak. Temen-ni-gru's tower was so massive that it shrouded the second half of the city it darkness, casting them all in shadow. I hurrily went to the edge, locating Dante with a newfound anxiety beating against my ribcage.

"No doubt you've got some fun planned for me!" called out Dante. "Right, Vergil?"

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